the women in my family

their names have been lost

only the winds & only the mountains

keep them. we’ve forgotten the names

of the mountains, my people, the more

we bent our knees to worship the gods 

of the city, the gods with jaguar eyes 

who sit in the smog, which could be mistaken 

for clouds but for the ink they leave 

in our lungs, rorschach paintings doctors 

dissect. what do you see? my death, certainly

but still no names of the women before

me, or the names of the mountains

& rivers, the promises my ancestors made

to the spirits & then betrayed when they fled

exchanged land for new land. what was her

name? i ask the room of my uncles &

am met with disinterest. where did she come

from? & I receive silence. that must be

it then: she came from air. from wind.

from the earth, stilling to quiet. & in

the right moment, when the sun hits

the water, when no one is around

when i can see the mountains breaking

the sky, i can almost hear them, the women

in my family, the ones who remember

their names.